


Packmates Lost and Found

by aravenwood



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Dysphoria, Cats, Exhaustion, Gen, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 02:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16588802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: Inspired by the "Of Beasts and Men" series by pan2fel.Once upon a time, Nyx Ulric could change back and forth at will. But now? Now he's just a human and he's not coping well.





	Packmates Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pan2fel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pan2fel/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Petrichor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14371293) by [pan2fel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pan2fel/pseuds/pan2fel). 



> Hey! So, a close friend and I were discussing this idea for a shifter who's trapped as a human and it just fit sooooo perfectly with her fics that I couldn't resist writing this as a gift. I guess it's technically an AU of an AU, which sounds pretty awesome.
> 
> But anyway, here's to you Pan!

Nyx hated this body. He’d been human before, he was sure of it, but now he could remember nothing about it and so it just felt weird. It was weird to have hands in the place of paws, nails instead of claws, stubby hairs on his arms and legs and chest face instead of soft, thick fur. His tongue was too soft and the clothes he wore over his skin to protect him from the cold and others from his body were itchy, leaving large red patches which stung when he tried to wash them away with his tongue. The body – because it was a body but it was not his – was a disgrace compared to the one he was used to. There was no tail and no whiskers and he felt almost…disconnected, even when it rained.

This body was a disgrace and he was trapped inside.

For a while he told himself that he would get used to it and forced himself to live life the way he should. Staying with Libertus, who actually enjoyed a human form and felt as foreign in a coeurl body as Nyx felt in this one, was at least a comfort, even if they didn’t sleep curled together the way Nyx wished they could. It wasn’t even that he wanted to sleep near Libertus – it was that he wanted to sleep near someone. He missed his pack and the way they would sleep in one pile, tails and whiskers curled around one another to hold themselves as one solid object. He missed Crowe’s soft snores and Pelna’s wriggling and Drautos’s solid form beneath him.

He missed all of them. He missed them and he couldn’t sleep without them.

That wasn’t even an exaggeration – he really hadn’t slept in the week since he’d lost his true form and gotten stuck as this…thing. He’d curled up in the bed Libertus had made up for him, taken every spare blanket and pillow he could find in the apartment and built it into a little nest. He wrapped himself around some of the pillows, arranged the blankets just so in order to feel what he tried to tell himself was a tail around his waist. But none of it worked. The only thing he was able to achieve was a little bit of warmth as he stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom and felt his happiness, his liveliness, his everything slip away with the passing time.

He never told Libertus but he knew that the other could see it. The looks at breakfast were enough, the lingering hands on his shoulder and his arm and his back were almost like an apology that he didn’t need but accepted anyway because he wouldn’t let Libertus feel guilty for things he couldn’t help. He would never force his closest friend to shift and reveal what he was most ashamed of.

Nyx was missing the company of a coeurl but he wasn’t a monster.

So he coped. He forced himself to stand when he wanted to fall, to smile when he wanted to scream. When he licked food from his fingertips he imagined they were his paws, but he didn’t cry when he remembered what they really were. Not out loud, anyway.

He could feel himself slipping away, though. The longer he remained in this furless, whiskerless form the more difficult it became to remember what his true self was like. Sometimes he forgot altogether and the soft, flat spots on his cheeks felt too natural, the blunt, rounded nails at the end of his hands too comfortable. When that happened, he could do nothing but huddle around his body and try to ignore everything in favour of the memories which clung to his muscles; the knot of them on his bottom and in his calves and knees. He tried to imagine a softly swishing tail and swirling whiskers. He forced himself to feel knees bending and extending as he pounced on his prey, to feel the soft nails raking against his skin like they were sharp, dangerous claws that could tear flesh to shreds.

It worked, and then it didn’t – after a week of an unfamiliar body and sleepless nights, he was sure that he was losing his mind at the memories, and they were making things worse instead of better. The constant comparing of his old body with this new one was making him sick, but it was so difficult to stop; to stop wishing he had a tail to wind around Libertus's ankle when they sat together, stop wishing that his fur would grow back and he would no longer have to wear those awful clothes which clawed at his skin and left him itching and in pain. Wishing was so easy to do and even when he told himself that it was making everything worse it remained, growing worse on those cold, lonely nights in which he huddled naked and alone with those useless substitute companions. It grew worse and worse until he was sure that he would break.

It was sheer luck that he came across the pet sanctuary which would drag him back from the darkness.

He'd decided on the afternoon of his eighth sleepless day to go for a walk in the hopes that it would clear the now-constant mist which clung to his mind. The fog left him slow and dull, unable to laugh or smile or even pay attention sometimes. There had been times in the last few days in which he'd found himself staring at nothing; mind blank, eyes unfocused and yet somehow still unable to move or even look away. The incidents, firstly rare and lasting only a minute, grew in intensity until they were frightening. Nyx was sure that he was losing his mind, his self and he was trying everything to bring it back. Actually going outside into the world of soft-skinned, furless people just like he was now was a last resort, but he was desperate.

Desperate enough to stumble inside a building with the sign “Insomnia Pet Sanctuary: Insomnia’s First and Only Pet Hotel” and ask to speak to the manager. It was more of a shock than anything else that he wasn’t immediately shown the door. Instead, he was asked to wait in a room full of cats.

Twisting his hands over his stomach and trying hard to ignore the way they trembled, he stumbled over to a large grey sofa and slumped down in the middle of it, threw his head back and tried to breathe. Almost immediately there was a slight weight on his lap. He jumped and pulled his hands up near his face to protect himself. It was an instinctual reaction, but he felt weak and pathetic for displaying such a ridiculous behaviour when he knew logically that he was safe, that no one here knew the real him or even this him. And yet his heart was still racing, his breaths were still fast and panicked, and he seemed unable to move his hands. He was frozen, terrified, stuck in this place he didn’t know with people he didn’t know and cats which weren’t like him, which would smell his traitorous stench and abandon him just like his pack had.

No, not abandoned, he tried desperately to remind himself; they didn’t abandon him, they thought he was dead and moved on without him.

That didn’t help the panic.

Something cold brushed his chin, and he was so shocked and surprised that he dropped his hands and glanced down at his lap. There he found a cat.

It was a small thing, white and fluffy with blue eyes and messy fur on top of its head. Its eyes were bright with adoration as it nudged his hand and meowed quietly. He stared at it, transfixed on the innocent gaze and blind desire for affection. This thing didn’t even know him, he’d come into its territory looking big and human and threatening, and didn’t even seem to care. All it wanted was love.

He stroked a single trembling finger from the top of its head to the middle of its back, and in return it lifted up its head and pressed it more firmly against his knuckles until he repeated the motion, this time with his full hand. The cat’s eyes slid gently shut and it shrunk down until it was settled on his lap, paws tucked beneath itself and head pointed all the way up. A quiet purr met Nyx’s next stroke and he couldn’t help but smile as he felt the tiny vibrations beneath his fingertips. The fur was so soft and thick and fluffy, nothing like the way Nyx’s had been and yet so comforting and familiar to feel on his skin. For a moment he could close his eyes and pretend this fur was his.

When he opened them again, he was being watched by three other cats which surrounded him at a distance; a black one with tired eyes, a grey one with a white face and dark markings around its eyes, and a large black tabby one with a scar over one eye. Each watched him with narrowed eyes but didn’t try to approach. They just stared.

“Hi,” he whispered, his voice a weak croak, “it’s ok, I’m not going to hurt you.”

But he knew they weren’t worried about that. They were more worried about the little thing on his lap making such a show of itself in its desperation for affection. He couldn’t say he could blame them - the fluffy little cat on top of him had rolled onto its back and was baring its stomach at him in a way that no animal should do. It was so vulnerable like that, so open and defenceless that he hated himself for letting it act like this. He shifted his hand so that he was stroking its face, his thumb rubbing the soft fur just below its whiskers - they were nothing like his, but they were more familiar than the prickles on his cheeks which Libertus had called “whiskers” that morning. The cat’s purring grew in volume and it rolled onto its side instead, legs flopping down to cover its stomach at least a little. Nyx let out a long, relieved sigh and even the other cats which watched him seemed to relax.

Little by little, they edged closer to him until he had three cats sitting on the sofa next to him and the fourth still on his lap. The three seemed less suspicious now and more curious, but none of them approached any further, content to just sit there and watch him stroke the fluffy little one, whose purrs were louder now, so loud that Nyx sent a few nervous glances at the door. What would the manager say if he was to walk in now?

But every worry about being caught left in a flood at a single chirrup which suddenly filled the air. His hand froze mid-pet and his jaw fell as he looked up and his eyes landed on pair of small, skinny coeurls.They watched him with narrowed eyes, their noses twitching almost in unison as they approached with tiny, hesitant steps while their whiskers swayed lazily from side to side.

Nyx’s chest grew tight once more as they paused to stare at him. One sniffed at his leg, the other placed its front paws on the sofa and stared up at him with wide, intelligent eyes. He smiled at it and it let out another chirrup, then dragged itself the rest of the way up onto the sofa. The other joined it a moment later.

The first coeurl, the one which Nyx was sure was a makeshift pack leader, sniffed at him once more then stepped halfway onto his lap, narrowly missing the fluffy cat which seemed to have fallen asleep. The coeurl brought its head close to his, inhaled deeply and then began to lick him. Its tongue was rough, its whiskers nudging his cheeks with each slight movement. The other just lowered itself against his leg and tucked its head over his hip, tangling its tail around his wrist and its whiskers over his ribs.

A minute later the first coeurl settled down on his other side. Their weight and fur and the comforting pressure of tails and whiskers had him breathing deeper than he’d been able to in days. His eyes grew heavy, exhaustion dragging him down more violently than it had before. Even holding his head up now felt too difficult, and he was a mere bystander as it fell back against the sofa. His breathing slowed, his eyes slipped shut, and he slid slowly into unconsciousness, the familiar weight of the coeurls supporting him all the way.

Several hours later he came to surrounded by several other cats, some leaning against him and some just close enough that he could reach them if he really tried. He stirred a little and something fluttered from his chest onto the back of one of the coeurls. Instead of reaching for it he just glanced at it, and found that it was a note. He shifted a little more so that he could make out the words, and smiled when he read them.

‘You’re hired. Cor Leonis.’

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
